


Roommates Mini 2: Donut Break

by Pokemaniacal, TGWeaver



Series: Roommates: Complete Memoirs [3]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 13:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokemaniacal/pseuds/Pokemaniacal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TGWeaver/pseuds/TGWeaver
Summary: In Mike's absence, a weary housemate takes a lazy morning trip for some delicious pastries.





	Roommates Mini 2: Donut Break

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Mini -- a relevant "side story" for _[Roommates: Memoirs of the Hairless Ape](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11250126/)_.  
>  This chapter can be read on its own, but it's recommended you read it in sequence with the main story.  
> Chronologically, this Mini comes immediately after [Chapter 24: Fries & Barbecue Sauce](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11250126/chapters/25762221).

They say the early bird gets the worm.

I say that's a stupid saying. I've never liked worms at all, and I've always been made to feel weird for it. Mom loved worms, Dad loved worms. My bird classmates all throughout school loved worms. Me? I never could stand them. Hell, even gummy worms kind of piss me off. There's just something about how stringy and weird and slimy they are that sends chills down my spine. Maybe it's that worms are too similar to bugs for my taste. I know they're not bugs, but still -- once you've had lice you start to see things differently.

I guess my point is that the early bird deserves something better than a lousy, crappy worm, especially because I feel like being the early bird is a mantle of responsibility. A burden to carry, a sacred post. It's a title with meaning. If I had it my way, the adage would go "the early bird gets first pick of the donuts".

And right now, the early bird is getting _first pick_ of the donuts.

"Give me two more strawberry frosted," I reply hungrily, tapping the glass case. The clerk carefully plucks them from the shelf with a set of tongs, adding them to the box with a yawn.

"Anything else for you, ma'am?" he mumbles, clearly anxious for me to leave the otherwise dead donut shop so that he can get back to catnapping. I give the case one last thorough scan making sure I got everyone something before shaking my head.

"That'll do me for today." I reach into the pocket of my track pants to pull my pocketbook out -- or rather, I attempt to. Huh, strange. I'm having a little trouble fitting my wing in there. Come to think of it, I had trouble getting them on this morning, too. Damn it, I just bought these a month ago. I know cotton shrinks, but this is ridiculous.

Eventually I work my wallet loose from my pocket, much to the bemusement of the sleepy donut jockey in front of me. I cut him a look -- don't think I don't notice you ogling my thighs, kid. Then again, I suppose I should be grateful that's all he's staring at. 

Undoing my pocketbook's clasp, I fumble around for a fiver while making sure to avoid pulling from the stack of cash Mike gave me last week. After collecting my change and making sure everything's in order, I bid the cashier a good morning and exit the store.

Looking down at the half-dozen donuts nestled safely under my wing, I begrudgingly admonish myself for splurging on treats considering how tight this month ended up being. As good of a cook as Freddy is, though, I just want to indulge in an old-fashioned donut every once in a while. I admit that things would be a lot more comfortable if I'd swallow my pride and spend Mike's money already, but it just doesn't feel right. I don't have the heart to spend any of his overage after metaphorically kicking him out on his ass.

And yet, I haven't given it back to him, either.

"Being poor sucks," I hiss under my breath, taking out my oh-so-insightful frustration on a nearby plastic bottle by stomping it flat with one of my feet.

"I'm sorry."

April's raspy voice jars me from my thoughts. I sheepishly glance over at her, having forgotten the poor raggedy rabbit insisted on tagging along to run errands with me. She's stationed on a bench underneath the store's awning, staring lazily up at me from what looks like an uncomfortable sitting position. Blushing, I extend a wing to her to help her up. 

"Sorry you had to see that," I mumble, embarrassed by my own outburst. Even though she isn't too much older than the rest of us, April's got this whole matronly aura going on. I feel less like the leader of my household and more like a pullet throwing a tantrum in front of my aunt.

April shakes her head slowly, her more-intact ear swaying a little as she does. "Won't judge," she sighs, motioning to herself. "You've seen it all." 

I notice a hint of red in her cheeks creeping over the top of her wrappings as she draws her overcoat tighter around herself. With the constant care and maintenance her condition demands -- everything from bathing to medicating to rubbing ointment on her skin, I can certainly say April's not wrong. I have, indeed, seen it all.

"Hey, no. Don't worry about it," I hastily interject. "You can't help it, and besides, we all have vulnerable moments. Believe me, I'm more than used to it with our own crew."

She draws a deep, labored breath and holds it for several seconds before releasing it in one frustrated snort. Stepping forward, she kicks the flattened plastic bottle with surprising force, sending it careening into the parking lot.

I grin at her as she pants a little, winded from the exertion. I think it's the most animated I've seen her in the scant few days I've been in her company. Placing my wing on April's shoulder, I give it a gentle squeeze.

"Now you're speaking my language, sister," I softly cheer. "Let's get going."

 

After stopping at the pharmacy to refill the prescriptions for both April and Bonnie, we finally make it back to our apartment. Freddy and Mangle are occupied in their respective rooms, and Bonnie's out of the house -- downstairs watching cartoons with Peanut and Bonbon, if I remember right. Looks like it's just me and April for now.

I carefully set my packages down before helping April shrug off her overcoat. This thing needs to be condemned. I can practically feel the mildew leaping from the weather-resistant fabric onto my feathertips, and it's all I can do to resist the urge to shudder in her face. I know she's going through a lot, but we've got to get her something better to wear than this monstrosity. I make a mental note to talk to our resident fashionista about it once Mangle's done with rush orders.

Plopping down in my chair to rest my feet for a few minutes, I smile patiently as April awkwardly shuffles over to the couch opposite me.

"Feel better after getting some exercise?" I ask, opening up the donut box.

"Some," she whispers, slowly reclining onto her pillow. "Tired, too."

I nod, breaking one of the donuts in two and offering half to April. She raises a paw apologetically, scratching at her neck a little. "Don't waste it on me," April says with a shake of her head. "Can't taste much, remember?"

"Screw that noise," I insist with a frown. "Taking care of our own isn't a 'waste', it's my pleasure." 

"Chica," she protests pitifully.

"Don't you 'Chica' me, young lady," I chuckle. "You've seen the way we have to deal with Bonnie, and I'll damn well do the same for you if you keep that martyr stuff up. Just because you're the new rabbit doesn't mean you get preferential treatment." I twirl the donut around in the air dramatically. "Now, open wide for the airplane," I coo.

She tugs at her mouth's wrappings until they fall free, exposing the smooth, shiny skin comprising the lower half of her face to the open air. The faintest little smile dances across her lips as I poke a chunk of the donut in her mouth. "There we go. Besides, you need to keep your sugar up," I add. "You had a pretty big morning walking all over town with me."

She reluctantly shifts to a half-sitting position as she begins nibbling on her half of the pastry. "Can't taste much, but... it's good," she manages. "Raspberry?"

"Close, strawberry," I reply, downing the rest of mine before sealing the box back up. "Mangle's favorite, and it's growing on me. They used to have a cran-orange that was pretty good, too."

"I love orange," April murmurs. "Citrus's strong enough... I can taste."

Hopping up from the couch, I carry the rest of the donuts to the kitchen, stashing them in the breadbox for now. "Lucky for you, we've got plenty of orange juice, so how about something to wash that donut down with? Besides, it's almost time for your medicine again, isn't it?"

"Please."

I pour April a glass of pulp-free orange juice before filling my water bottle from the tap. "How are your legs? Are you ready for fresh ointment and wrappings yet?"

"Fine for now," she says, gratefully accepting the juice. She points curiously to the crazy straw poking out of it. "Really?"

I stare at the glass before realizing what it is that I did. "Oh, force of habit," I chuckle, unscrewing the cap from her pill bottle. "When you've got a girl who fights you every step of the way on her medicine, you've got to get creative."

She accepts her pills and swallows them before pressing the straw to her lips. "I don't mind," she shrugs. "It's cute."

"They are pretty cute," I agree. "Bonnie's like the little sister I never had, so we tend to spoil her, you know? Freddy and Mangle especially."

April nods, savoring her juice. "How is... Mangle?"

"Better," I admit, flopping down in my seat. "Won't stop talking about Mike. Apparently, him coming over and hashing things out really had a big impact."

"Good," she murmurs. "He seems nice."

I look out the window at the apartment building across from ours. "Maybe when he's not being a huge dork," I grin. 

April tilts her head at my choice of words and I scoff back, smiling.

"Nah, I'm kidding. Mike's a really good guy. He's rough around the edges, but I know he means well."

"Do you like him?" she asks, setting the empty glass aside. I nod, picking the television remote up off the table.

"Oh, sure," I answer. "He's agreeable and tries not to make waves, but he's honest enough that he'll tell you what he's thinking. He keeps his room clean, he helps out a lot with the chores and that kind of stuff. Mike's pretty much a model roommate."

April begins wrapping her mouth back up. "Not what I meant," she replies. "Do you _like_ him?"

Realizing what she means, my cheeks flush. "That's-- well, I mean... ah, no, of course not! He's kind of weird with his, uh, the fur situation and... I mean, he's short, you know? I'm like almost twice his height! Well, maybe a foot or two taller, but it's just-- I mean-- and he's so chubby!"

"Mmm... I see." She lowers her head to her pillow, and I can swear she's grinning ear-to-half-ear underneath those bandages. "So 'no', then?"

"No, I don't like him like _that_ ," I heatedly retort. "Believe me, Mike just plain isn't my type!"

Leaning across the couch, April pats me patronizingly on the knee, winking with her good eye. "Sure he isn't. Forget... I said," she laughs.

Slinking down in my seat, I turn the TV on with a huff.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're following the _Roommates_ story in order, you can [click here for the next part, **Chapter 25: Chica's Chocolate Cheer**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11250126/chapters/25789224).


End file.
